WHO? ME?

We found the Hawk Conservancy quite a while ago, when travelling to a Devon holiday. The year is lost in the mists of time now, but we never passed the brown sign after that.

Jan

In 1986 we moved to our native roots; Somerset (Val) and Dorset (me), but then decided that as we were still besotted with one another, we’d live together in Gillingham. Being closer to Weyhill, our visits became more frequent and I took out membership. I had some experience, starting ages ago with a falconry course, including how to strangle yourself with a lure, and had my share of “Days with birds of prey” and the odd activity day, but little recent experience.

A few months after our 50th Wedding anniversary, Val died very suddenly. Talk about disorientation! You can’t be married to someone for 50 years having all sorts of adventures, ordeals and fun without missing them a bit. Thank God for a supportive family. It was at about this time that the spring Hawk Talk edition hit the streets and a call for members to come and give a hand had an instant appeal, so along I trotted and had a chat with Ash.

I went through the induction procedure after which Andy casually said, “At the moment what we need is a gardener. Could you help?” I’m not much of a flower gardener, that was Val’s province, mine involves lawns, hedges, bonfires and things that you can eat. BF&I gardening sums me up (for those of you who, like me, don’t get the jargon, BF&I translates to brute force and ignorance – Ed). However Ash is very forgiving. So off I went on my first mission, scrambling about in a nettle jungle, clearing and tidying, doing a bit of pruning and, I must admit, having a great time.

Jan the 'BF&I' gardener, in the nettle jungle

I spent a fair bit of time doing jobs around the park like driving the John Deere tractor/mower, and getting to know folks and finding out where things were kept. I was content and absorbed in what I was doing. Mind you, as 2pm approached, a trail of footprints headed by a small cloud of dust indicated that yours truly was making tracks for the upper flying ground. The Valley of the Eagles is a display that I just cannot bear to miss.

I continued helping out after the park had closed for winter, taking part in work days, absorbing the way things were done and, at lunch and coffee break, listening to the team and, I think, learning, and increasing still more my love for the birds. If I asked anyone a question on a point about a bird, it was patiently answered.

Come the run up to opening I got the chance to help Gary and Sam exercise some of the Harris Hawks. I carried on with the garden patrol, but other tasks came my way too. I was asked to help with tours of the hospital, starting by ‘sitting in’ on an experienced tour conductor and listening to the patter. The first time I went solo I got the butterflies, but thankfully got through it without fluffing or drying up, after which the job was much easier. A while later I was asked to try my hand at holding birds. I duly reported and under the eagle eye of Ivan I managed well enough to satisfy my mentor, and have done it several times since. I love doing this job, particularly for the sight of the sheer pleasure on the faces of the young ones. Mind you the grownups who try holding a bird are equally pleased.

One morning Gary asked me if I’d do the Vulture Talk (eek!). I agreed and he then asked if I’d done it before. “No but I have sat in on the talk a tidy few times and reckon I can hack it”. “OK but you’ll have to explain about the restaurant” The feeding of the vultures during the Vulture Talk was stopped as the birds were starting the breeding phase so they were being fed earlier in the morning to ensure that each had a proper ration and a little peace. Well, have you ever tried lovemaking with indigestion? Off I went and managed to remember most of the spiel. Then came the ‘inswingers’:
“How many eggs does the female lay?”
“How long before the eggs hatch?”
“How long does it take for the bird to grow up?”
“How does the male recognise the female?” (!)